The Pendragon Legacy: Sons Of Camelot Book One

by Sarah Luddington

  “Oh, that feels good,” I murmured. Galahad actually chuckled. He unbuckled my gambeson at the front and slid it over my shoulders. He then caught me gently in his arms and lowered me to the ground. His fingers deftly undid the laces on my doublet and I heard my shirt ripping.

  Strong fingers poked my side. “Ouch,” I declared.

  “It’s deep, Holt. I’m going to have to stitch it but you need a healer,” Galahad said. I heard the worry in his voice and it felt strangely reassuring. He had a soul.

  “You can’t heal it?” I asked.

  “I am not a healer. I am a warrior and I’ve been told I cannot heal. Besides, my father’s human blood corrupts my fey gifts,” he said sadly.

  “It’s no corruption, Galahad. And I’ll heal, I have before.”

  “Maybe you need to learn to be a better fighter and then you wouldn’t be hurt so easily,” he said, rising and reaching for his saddle bags.

  I grunted. “You might be right.”

  Galahad knelt beside me. “I am not right, Holt. You saved my life. That arrow would have gone through my head if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way and you dealt with far more of them than I did. You are a brave man.”

  “I’m a fucking idiot,” I muttered, the pain beginning to take control and weaving too heavily through my body for me to maintain my sense of peace. “Oh, bloody hell. It hurts, Galahad.”

  “Alright, Holt. I need to stitch you up, can you handle it?” he asked and I realised I looked into the eyes of a scared young man who’d never been on a battlefield. His hands trembled slightly and he’d grown very pale.

  I raised a smile for him. “I can handle it, Galahad. I’ll be fine and you’ll do well. Once it’s done get me back on Sparrow and we’ll ride to the next village together.” I patted his hands and he nodded.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stitching is not a pleasant sensation but Galahad took a great deal of care and I managed not to scream. We were approaching late afternoon by the time I shuffled toward Sparrow. Mounting the damn horse hurt more than the initial wound. We walked the horses until dusk started to settle and Galahad finally realised we weren’t going to reach a village. We were still riding through the forest I’d found him in that morning without stumbling across people who didn’t want to kill us for our horses and purses.

  He dismounted from Sherriff, the big white stallion, and I felt his arms around my back and over my chest. “Come, I’ll help you down and set up camp. We need to keep you still.”

  I grunted, his arms were strong but they felt such a distance from me even though I knew they touched my body. I collapsed against Galahad’s chest and a cry ripped from someone’s throat because of the pain.

  “Shh, Holt, it’ll be alright,” Galahad murmured. He had such a nice voice. Soft, warm and deep. Not the same rough growl his father used. A hand touched my head. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “It’s very hot here,” I managed with my mouth far too dry.

  “No, Holt, it isn’t hot. You are sick. We need to take a look at the wound.” He laid me flat, which hurt, and gently raised my shirt. “Damn it.” It was the first time I’d heard him curse. “The wound is red and swollen. You’ve a bad fever brewing.”

  “Hmm,” I agreed. To be honest, after the last few months with losing so much of my family and the insane racing around Albion I’d been doing trying to find Galahad, I was tired. I’d been fighting to hold The City and Camelot together after their two greatest icons left the world within days of each other. I needed a rest and this seemed a good place for some peace.

  If only I could stop hurting I’d be able to sleep. Every bone and strand of muscle wanted to rise up and break free from my skin.

  “Holt, I need you to stay still. Please, stop thrashing around. You’ll hurt yourself.” That lovely voice sounded so concerned, so worried. I tried to obey.

  Something wonderfully cool touched my head. It reminded me of my mother’s long fine fingers. She was so beautiful and had taught me so much. Almost as much as the Black Wolf. A huge creature who lay at my side, with his chin resting on my flank. A vision of the sun made real walked toward me. ‘Father, oh, Father, I’ve missed you so much,’ I cried out. A wave of peace washed over me as his scarred hand rested over my heart and the Black Wolf’s broad head.

  “Holt?”

  I raised eyelids made of stone and murmured some noise.

  “Here, you need a drink of water.”

  My head lifted off the ground. Whoever held it must have been very strong because I couldn’t manage it. Darkness reached over the leafy ceiling. Cool water trickled into my mouth and I swallowed.

  “Holt? Please, talk to me.”

  I focused on one of the most beautiful faces I’d ever seen. How could a man be both beautiful and utterly masculine at the same time? I smiled into those dark eyes and drifted on a wide calm sea.

  “Really, your Highness, you need to come with us. We are...” A strong voice, dark and mysterious.

  “He’s fading, we have to move faster. I don’t know how much more I can give him without tying him to me...” A lighter voice, a woman.

  “Don’t do that, our Prince will not thank you for it...” The dark one again.

  Pain.

  No pain.

  Screaming, someone screaming really loudly.

  Soft, like snowflakes. I remembered snowflakes from my childhood. A golden man carrying me through the snow while I laughed as they tickled my face. My father, my beautiful father. My mother wrapping me in warm blankets and scolding us gently for being out too long. Her eyes shining with the light of the fire and her golden hair alive with her love for me. Her love for me.

  “Holt, come home to us. Please. I beg you. I don’t want to be alone, not anymore.” A stranger’s voice but one which made both my parents turn toward the door to see a dark man walk through. My Uncle Woof. My wonderful Uncle Woof. He knew about snowflakes. He knew about everything and he’d stop my mother from scolding me. He’d hug my father and they would sit, hand in hand, while my mother dressed me for bed.

  “Holt,” a strong voice. “I know you want to stay with them, son. I understand more than most but you need to wake up. Galahad needs you now. Albion needs you. Morgana needs you.” So much compassion in those soft demanding words.

  The ties on my eyelids holding them closed fell away.

  “Here he is, our Loholt Pendragon.” That beautiful smile.

  “Uncle Tancred?”

  “Hello, son. You come all this way to our small forest and you don’t come to visit? I’m hurt. Don’t you love your wolf family anymore?” he asked with gentleness and great love. Grey weaved through his dark hair more these days, but he remained strong.

  “How?” I asked.

  He raised me gently from the soft bed holding me and placed a cup to my lips. Clean water trickled into my mouth and I found a thirst burned in me.

  “Our young Prince panicked and sent a summoning spell for his Mistress. Fortunately I also heard the call and blocked it before it reached the porthole he intended. I sent my wolves to look for you and brought you home. We were lucky, he’s strong and he’s kept you alive,” Tancred said and looked over his shoulder at a sleeping figure in another small bed.

  I managed to focus my eyes. “Galahad,” I whispered. “He’s safe.” I smiled.

  “Oh dear,” Tancred said, placing my head back on the pillow. “Does he know you love him?” A frown marred his face. His cream woollen robes looked soft.

  I smiled weakly. “I’m a Pendragon. Isn’t it our fate to be made miserable by love?”

  Tancred’s eyes filled with tears for a moment and his breathing shuddered. “I miss them too, son. I miss them too.”

  A tear slid down my cheek and I closed my eyes. The pain slowly left me and I slept.

  ***

  “I wish you’d woken me.” A snapped command brought me roughly from my stupor but I struggled to make my consciousness known to those around me.

&nbs
p; “Galahad, he was barely conscious and you needed to sleep. You were exhausted. It’s bad enough Tancred let you sleep here, never mind him waking you. It’s taken days for Tancred to heal Holt.”

  “The point is, Fox, Loholt is my responsibility.”

  “Then maybe you should be paying attention to me rather than arguing with our hosts,” I finally managed to point out weakly. He stood in puddle of sunshine and looked like a dark god.

  His head snapped to attention and he was at my side, holding my hand. Our fingers intertwined and I lost myself in his dark eyes. “How are you?” he asked. “I’ve been so scared. You almost died. Then the wolves came. I thought they were going to kill you. I almost –” His young face broke my heart with its earnest appeal.

  “Calm down. I’m alright. I’m healing.” I smiled for him and he visibly relaxed.

  “I’ve been so worried. Tancred and the others have been wonderful, but I’ve been so worried.” He stroked my hand constantly.

  “Water would be nice,” I murmured and watched Fox slip from the room.

  Galahad lifted me and helped me sit up. I ached everywhere but all traces of the fever had gone, except for a sense of weakness I found hard. I drank a little watered wine this time and tasted herbs in the brew. Tancred might once have been a general in Morgana’s army but now the Prince of the Wild Wood trained healers and medics. He never left his wood and he never left his lover, Fox, a man from another world and time. We all suspected Tancred used his own connection to Albion to keep Fox alive and well, which is why they never left this place, but no one asked because no one wanted to judge. Tancred had given enough over the years and deserved his peace.

  “How do you feel?” Galahad asked again once I’d settled.

  “Good.” I nodded. “Weak, but good. How are you? You look tired.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been so worried about you,” he said and smiled. I’d gone drinking with his father when I came of age and seen the damage his smile could do to a woman’s heart. Galahad’s smile was even more devastating because it held an innocence Lancelot would never have understood or known.

  “It’ll take more than a rusty axe to kill me,” I said.

  “It wasn’t just rusted, it was poisoned,” he said. “We were set up. They weren’t just trying to rob us, they were trying to kill us.” His eyes darkened in anger.

  “Well, they didn’t so it’s alright. Thank you for saving my life, Galahad. You certainly didn’t have to, it’s cost you time.”

  He glanced down and spoke quietly, “I know you, I don’t remember the rest of my family. I needed to make certain you were alright. I cannot return to The City without you. If I am meant to see my mother again in this life I shall but it’ll not be at the cost of your life.”

  I patted his knee. “That’s the most words you’ve ever spoken to me without being angry.”

  He glanced up at me ready for a fight before smiling and finally a short chuckle when he caught my expression. “I’ve been difficult.”

  “You’ve been hurt,” I said.

  “I’ve been alone,” he whispered. “I’ve been alone a long time.”

  The door opened and for the first time I took in my surroundings. I lay in a long low room made of rough stone covered in white wash. Small windows issued in watery light and I could just see the trees of the Wild Wood outside. The truckle bed I occupied sat low to the ground and the wood was finely carved with wolves chasing each other over hilltops. Wool blankets covered me but I wore no clothes and a bowl of water with rags floating in it sat nearby. I’d been washed and cared for constantly in my sickness.

  Tancred and Fox walked in. “Hello, Holt,” Tancred said. He sat on a low stool and placed a cool rough hand on my forehead.

  “I owe you a great deal,” I said. “Thank you for helping us. Galahad says we were not victims of a random attack?”

  Fox picked up the bowl and stared down at me. “Are you hungry yet?” he asked.

  “Starving,” I said. I smiled sheepishly. Among the wolves there were no real servants and no slaves. Tancred maintained a pack where people looked after each other and themselves equally. If anyone stepped out from the core of the pack he dealt with them so ruthlessly Lancelot had been forced to interfere during the early days. But now the wolves were close allies to the throne of Albion and the du Lac family. They were productive and strong. Fair and organised. You just didn’t want to argue with the man in charge.

  Fox left to see to my food. I watched him, his hair still dark and his shoulders still strong despite his age. I didn’t make any comment.

  “It seems our young Prince has a fondness for you,” Tancred said, smiling at Galahad. “He’s been vociferous in your care and protection. He is so like his father in some ways.” A note of longing tinged his words but he shook himself and brightened. “Tell me about him? He’s hardly spoken to me, I don’t think he approves.” His tone teased and Galahad blushed.

  I smiled. “He is difficult because The Lady has filled his head with her own version of the truth.” A tactful version of my truth. Galahad glanced at me, clearly nervous about my next words. “I think the man underneath will always do the right thing and always know in his heart what is good and honest. He has honour, is brave and a fine warrior. A man his father would have been proud of and loved.”

  Galahad’s almost black eyes shone with unshed tears suddenly and he rose from the end of my bed to study the view outside the windows.

  “Maybe we should talk about who tried to kill you,” Tancred said, watching Galahad’s back.

  “I doubt they were trying to kill me. Galahad is the likely object of their hate. I should image it was a rival Sidhe or Salamander family trying to wipe him out before he reached The City. I’m more concerned about how they found us. It took me weeks to track him down, if they’ve been tracking me, I’m a liability,” I said.

  Tancred frowned. “Holt, you are one of the best trackers, outside my pack, that I’ve ever met. They would not have followed you, this isn’t your fault. Though I do think you are right in your assertions, the rival fey families might be moving to hurt him and his sisters.”

  “But how did they find us?” I asked.

  “Maybe it wasn’t a rival family but someone who wants Holt dead because they are afraid of who and what he represents,” said Galahad quietly.

  “I’m no threat to anyone,” I said. “Camelot only survives on the good will of The City.”

  “The Lady knows that,” he said, his tone sombre. He turned slowly from the window and returned to my bed. He sat next to me and took my hand, stroking it gently. “Camelot is a carbuncle on the face of Albion. Its people are diluting the pure blood of the fey through breeding. And our families are too close. I was not meant to be your friend, Loholt Pendragon.”

  His voice was so quiet and his eyes were downcast, his broad shoulders were bowed. “Galahad, what aren’t you telling me?” I asked gently. Tancred sat very still and watched my fingers tangling with my young friend’s.

  Galahad raised his tragic dark eyes. “I was meant to kill you the moment we met.”

  I swallowed. Admitting my presence to him in that waterfall had been the wisest decision I’d ever made. “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m meant to wipe out Camelot. I am the greatest enemy you will face.” He dropped his head once more, hiding his expression.

  “Galahad...” his name whispered through my lips.

  He clutched my fingers. “I have not done it because the murdering of innocents, the children, the women... I cannot do that. Camelot is innocent of the crimes of our fathers. The Lady wants her vengeance but that is not the path a man of honour would take, I want to be a man people can be proud of and I have no reason to hate Camelot.” His words were slow, his eyes remaining focused on the ground.

  “You want to be the man you dream of becoming?” I asked gently.

  He glanced up at me briefly and nodded. He seemed so young. “I have always wanted to make The Lady
proud of me but her anger is wrong. I know it in my heart and I am ashamed of her hate.”

  Tancred coughed. “All of her hate?” he asked.

  Galahad withdrew his hands from mine and straightened his shoulders. “There are some things, your Highness, which should not be condoned even if they must be tolerated.”

  My heart closed down. For a brief moment I’d felt hope that my ridiculous romantic fantasies would come to fruition but he wanted a friend, not a lover.

  “Don’t make sweeping judgements, Galahad. Love is complex,” I said.

  Tancred rose from my side. “I think you’ll be strong enough to leave us tomorrow, Holt. You should return to The City but I will have to insist you take a guard. I’ll have some of my best people travel with you.”

  “Thank you, Tancred.” I felt bad for him. To be so openly condemned by Lancelot’s son must be a slap in the face. I needed to talk to Galahad in depth at some point but I wasn’t convinced he’d listen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I struggled out of bed and stood with Galahad’s help. When the world stopped rotating he helped me dress. My side hurt and he assured me there would be a stunning scar but it seemed I was lucky to be alive. Insisting I wanted some fresh air, he helped me walk out of Tancred’s infirmary and into the late afternoon sunshine gracing the wolves’ forest home.

  The soft light filtered through the trees, warming the loamy soil and releasing the rich scents of life being renewed through death. I breathed in the gentle peace of Tancred’s forest and felt something relax in me which had formed the moment we knew we’d be losing Lancelot and therefore my father, making me a king.

  I watched people, women and children, some wolves, wandering around the village in obvious contentment and made Galahad help me sit on a bench.